WOMAN.
GIVE us that grand word “woman” once again,
And let’s have done with “lady”: one’s a term
Full of fine force, strong, beautiful, and firm,
Fit for the noblest use of tongue or pen;
And one’s a word for lackeys. One suggests
The Mother, Wife, and Sister! One the dame
Whose costly robe, mayhap, gives her the name.
One word upon its own strength leans and rests;
The other minces tiptoe. Who would be
The perfect woman must grow brave of heart
And broad of soul to play her troubled part
Well in life’s drama. While each day we see
The “perfect lady” skilled in what to do
And what to say, grace in each tone and act
(’Tis taught in schools, but needs some native tact),
Yet narrow in her mind as in her shoe.
Give the first place then to the nobler phrase,
And leave the lesser word for lesser praise.
THE SOUL’S FAREWELL TO THE BODY.
SO we must part forever; and although
I long have beat my wings and cried to go,
Free from your narrow limiting control,
Forth into space, the true home of the soul,
Yet now, yet now that hour is drawing near,
I pause reluctant, finding you so dear.
All joys await me in the realm of God—
Must you, my comrade, moulder in the sod?
I was your captive, yet you were my slave:
Your prisoner, yet obedience you gave
To all my earnest wishes and commands.
Now to the worm I leave those willing hands
That toiled for me or held the books I read,
Those feet that trod where’er I wished to tread,
Those arms that clasped my dear ones, and the breast
On which one loved and loving heart found rest,
Those lips through which my prayers to God have risen,
Those eyes that were the windows to my prison.
From these, all these, Death’s Angel bids me sever;
Dear Comrade Body, fare thee well forever!